Before his hand spasmed on the wheel, before he formed the cognitive command to swerve, the opposing car was plowing into the women with heart-sickening thuds, bodies flying into the air, shooting to the side in blurring screaming horror as the car blasted with metal-crunching force into his…turning everything…

Blank.

The air was hissing, smelling of burning rubber and plastic; something dripped like raindrops. Ben’s ears were ringing, his head dizzy, his chest aching and his pained breathing shallow. He was compacted by the seat against the deflated air bag and dashboard, coming in and out of consciousness with voices around him.

“Hang in there, buddy. Help’s on the way!”

“Dad!”

Kayla?

“Can you hear me, Dad?”

Someone’s shaking hand had taken his.

“Dad,” Kayla sobbed. “Stay with me, please, Dad!”

In and out, everything went dark then bright to the sound of sirens.

“We got to cut him out!”

The clank of equipment bags, hoses dousing hot metal, rubber boots, gloves pulling debris away, firefighters, the deafening high-powered grind and sparks, rescuers cutting into metal.

“We’ll have you out real soon, sir.”

Ben passed in and out with a blurry glimpse of a TV camera, a news photographer, more faces. A voice shouted, “Get those press people back!”

A gurney rattled, expert hands extracted him, fashioning some sort of harness and brace, placed him on a board then a gurney. Ben glimpsed ambulance doors while floating on the gurney toward them, Kayla’s face above him surrounded by sky. She was holding his hand and crying.

The cross for her mother was four miles away.

“Dad…”

Ben tried to smile through his pain, ask her, “You okay?”

She nodded, tears flowing. “I’m okay, Dad.”

“Em—” Ben winced.

As Ben was hoisted into the ambulance, he heard Kayla. “But I want to go with him.”

“I’m sorry. You’ve got to go with the deputies, sweetie.”

The doors closed. Ben passed in and out.

In the ambulance a paramedic tended to him, quickly fixing him with tubes, an IV, a blood pressure cuff, an oxygen mask. Then she moved forward to read monitors and talk to the hospital on a cell phone.

Ben turned his head to see another patient on a gurney across from him.

Emma?

No, it was a strange woman, bloodied, dirty, grass and twigs in her hair, oxygen mask accentuating the dark eyes staring at him.

“Ben,” she moaned, “Ben Grant.”

He nodded, not knowing who she was.

Weakly she lifted her arm to take his hand, trying to squeeze it.

“Ben, listen to me.” Her voice was hoarse. “Your wife killed Rita Purvis.”

Ben was jolted. I must be delirious, not hearing correctly.

“My real name is Nikki Gorman…” She gurgled and coughed. “Your wife’s name is Janie…get away from her…she’s a murderer.”

Ben’s eyes widened with disbelief.

“Your wife was going to hurt you and your daughter. I came to save you…”